


Little by Little

by Sandentwins



Category: Taiyou no Ko Esteban | Les Mystérieuses Cités d'or | The Mysterious Cities of Gold
Genre: Anxiety, Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins
Summary: The knowledge of an ancient civilization now rests on a lone boy's shoulders, with little to no regard as to whether he's actually able to bear it.





	Little by Little

_“Remember, Tao.”, his father had once said. “Our science, our knowledge are a treasure. A precious secret that you must keep with you always. Should they fall into the wrong hands, the world could suffer deeply from it.”_

And the young boy, from the top of his childish mind, had taken his father's words to heart. He kept that secret in his mind, never to leave it, and relished in being the bearer of the ancient knowledge of Mu. With his father, he was working to keep alive the legacy of their ancestors, to make sure it never disappeared from the face of the world. 

And then, his father died. And Tao became the sole bearer of all of Mu's heritage.

How curious, to live in a world where no one can hear you. How strange to have no one to share your legacy with anymore. How difficult, to try to keep your head up when no one is here for you.

He tried to ignore this feeling, as it grew inside him and made his chest feel heavy. He tried to do something to keep himself busy. He tried to not give into the tears and gut-wrenching pain, even when it seemed like the only option left. The words of his father bore heavily on his mind, and they gave him a responsibility he couldn't ignore. He couldn't give in to abandon and endless grief. He had to be worthy, he had to stay afloat and carry with him the gift of his people. Even if it hurt, _especially_ if it hurt.

Days became filled with everything he could do to fill them. Anything was worth doing, if it meant he'd put his knowledge at a good use. He would read his books over and over, no matter how many times he's already gone through them, even if he knew every single line of them by heart now. Page after page, he would read out the language of his people, in a voice that was becoming low from being so silent. He would read out the stories, the schematics, the old idioms endlessly, if only so he could have something to listen to other than the rumble of the sea, the rustle of the branches, the cries of the animals. Something, anything, even the sound of his lost voice.

And when he got bored of reading blueprints again and again, he started to put them in practice. Hour after hour, he would try to replicate the amazing inventions described in these books, build complex mechanics out of anything he could get his hands on. And what was just practice turned over time into a real hobby, a perfect distraction from his concerned thoughts. The grinding of the seesaw, the bang of the hammer, the rustle of stretched rope, they were all perfect means to ignore that white noise in his head, that endless voice that nagged at him and tried to make him face what he only wanted to forget. He knew that as soon as he'd stop working, it would come back at him again, and force him to think back on these painful memories, on the fact that he was alone, _all alone_ , that everyone he's ever cared for was _gone_ , and- and-

And he worked even harder to ignore it. Tree after tree, board after board, he was building his modest hut into an arboreal castle. Day after day, month after month, he was giving rise to a small village of his own making, to empty houses that he populated with anything he could find. Old items, rocks, vaguely human-shaped dolls of cloth and sand. Anything to give this place an illusion of life again; anything to make him feel like he had neighbors, relatives, friends here with him on this remote island. 

Anything he could talk to, to feel less alone. To ignore the fact that now, it would just be himself against the whole, wide, empty world.

~~~~~ 

One day, when hunting for food while reciting some lines from a poem, he stumbled upon a bird's nest hidden in some tree branches. As usual, he saw it as a good thing, and happily took the small eggs back home to cook on a hot stone. Everything was a matter of survival on this island, and he didn't want to miss any chances to wake up the next day; even if it meant stealing his meal from the wildlife.

It was a quite meager meal, anyway. Three little white eggs that could fit in one hand, and that wouldn't succeed in feeding him much. Especially one, that looked even smaller than its siblings and that honestly gave him a thought of pity. 

He could have thrown it out, and it wouldn't have been such a waste. But somewhere in a corner of his lonely mind, and idea came to form, that sounded very stupid at first. Yet as there were no ideas but his own he could listen to, he decided to give it a try. So he nestled the tiny egg in a bundled up blanket, and waited.

It took quite a time. If at first he was checking on it regularly, making sure it was warm and aerated, he soon lost interest and let it where it was, by a corner of the firepit. And maybe with time he forgot about it altogether; that is, until he noticed it was squirming and cracking.

And about a half hour later, he wasn't alone anymore. 

~~~~~ 

How strange it felt, to have a friend. How weird it was, to have someone to talk to. And how great it felt, to have someone that listened.

Little Pichu maybe wasn't as smart as a human person, and not as loquacious. But at least, he would actively pay attention to Tao's words, unlike dolls and books. After a long time of being ignored by the world, to have this little parrot tilt his head and blink at him whenever he spoke felt like the warmest of gestures anyone could have ever done. And so Tao never tired of speaking, for he now had the occasion to share his secrets, the heavy burden of his knowledge with someone else.

And it felt beautiful, it felt refreshing. It felt even better when Pichu started learning to mimic human speech, and would throw back some words whenever they were spoken. By the age of one year, he could already repeat full sentences, and a lot of little sounds he'd pick up here and there. It brought some light into his life, and sometimes managed to truly make him smile. Nothing like a clumsy parrot's silly sing-song to make one feel better.

But no matter how smart Pichu proved to be, all his words and cutesy mimics were but that: mimics. Repetitions of what Tao would say or do, an endless echo of his own mind in feathery form. Of course, this was much better than complete silence; but it still felt odd, like he was talking to himself. That didn't help his mood very much; even though, when all things considered, the parrot's company was still very welcome. It was nice to have a tiny friend to pet, to teach things to, to land on his head whenever he'd get busy. It brought a little bit of color back into Tao's existence.

But he wasn't sure just how much it'd be able to help.

~~~~~ 

Sometimes, the endless blue horizon would reveal the bright white of a sail. A ship in the distance, headed for the continent, according no second thought to Tao's tiny rock of an island. They never came this way, and he felt relieved, for he knew that ships brought trouble; but perhaps a little bit of sadness would make its way into his heart as well. 

He'd wonder about what it would be like, for other people to come on his island. Surely they wouldn't speak the same language as him, nor would they dress the same. Perhaps they would try to befriend him; perhaps they would try to hurt him. He actually had no idea at all.

He's never been anywhere beyond the island. His father would tell him tales of the continent, of the people that lived there. He's been almost everywhere, traveling the world before settling down, and since his earliest years Tao loved to listen to his many tales. But now, his father wasn't here anymore to tell him whether to fear or befriend the strangers that were never coming. So now, it was all up to him.

He knew they would never come, anyway. But just in case, he prepared himself to defend the secrets of his ancestors, with his life if it came to that. He was the only one who knew the science of Mu, and the only one who could protect it. Such was his role.

His preparations were not done in vain. Some years later, out of nowhere, a small group of people arrived on his island. His time has come to defend whatever these strangers have come to seek from him. Or so was his plan, until he took notice of the black-eyed young girl that was with them.

And so, just like that, one of his father's old tales suddenly became true.

~~~~~ 

Despite everything, the tiny voice would sometimes keep nagging at him. It was always there somewhere, as a reminder of everything he's felt for so long, a memory of these difficult times he's tried to abandon the moment he left his island. But no matter how he tried, some things would just never go away; not even the thrill of adventure, the freedom of flight, the joy of discoveries coming one after the other on this endless quest could ease his burden. Not even the presence of his friends, who have been there for him since the beginning. Even though they gave a new life to his voice and a new role to his knowledge, they couldn't help the weight of the secret he's been tasked with. It was his own to carry alone, and neither Esteban nor Zia nor any of these adults understand what he was going through. And even if they could, he felt like he shouldn't have to bother them with his insignificant feelings, his pressure that mattered so little in the end. Even if it was secretly weighing him down, and wearing out his mind the more he thought about it.

They would die with him. A thousand years of culture, language, history- it would all die with him. Even if they were to succeed, to find the seven Cities of Gold and reawaken Mu's lost legacy, he couldn't help but feel it wouldn't be the same. There would always be a part that wouldn't survive him, wouldn't survive his memories and the memories of his father. A part that he could never share with anyone, for it wasn't what his father would have wanted. As the last descendant of Mu, he was the only one who could do it.

But yet once again, the universe insisted on proving him wrong. And this time, for the first time in ages, his tears were not tears of loneliness.

~~~~~ 

His friends were the Chosen Ones. The ones meant to carry the fate of the world on their shoulders. The ones whose existence was foretold thousands of years ago, whose life was already traced out to go where the sages of times past have wanted. The ones whose necks bore the key to the new world, to the awakening of a new age for the generations to come. The ones whose abilities transcended human limitations, and were only demanding to grow even further. The one whose voice could call forth the sun, and the one whose mind could command to elements. They were the heroes long awaited for, and their destiny would call for places and goals away from his own.

Such was what he's thought. Such was what caused him great distress for a long time. Such was what had filled his heart with jealousy, with envy towards those who had everything, compared to he who had only memories of his teachings to feel relevant.

Such was what the voice inside of him kept whispering. Reminding him, of how useless he exactly was in all of this, of how his presence wasn't needed, and that even though he could read the language of Mu that let them move forward in their quest, he was an extra, an intruder.

Such he's thought. And such he's been proven wrong, in a way he's come to accept with an ironic fondness.

Little by little, his presence alongside his friends had revealed the sense it made. Little by little, his help gained in value, his skills in refinement, and his place in worth. Little by little, he's come to understand that perhaps, it was all part of the plan as well.

For his friends understood what he was going through, since their burden was very similar to his own. They've never wanted to be the chosen ones, after all; nor has he wanted to be the last guardian of Mu's knowledge. And despite everything that pushed them to become heroes and sacred keepers, they were but children. They could afford to be scared, to not know better, to want to give up until they learned to move forward again. They could try to live the life they wanted to live, not the one legends have foretold. And only for that, for how they just _got it_ without doubting him or mocking his fears, for they had the very same, he knew he wasn't alone. And Tao related to their sentiment, related so much that he could without a doubt see how much he was _fitting in_.

Little by little, the voice quieted down, becoming a mere whisper; until the day it simply ceased to be. And in that moment, Tao's worries felt lighter than they've ever been.


End file.
